Dark Arts and Allurements
by ReferenceGoddess
Summary: Some people will do anything to stop the marriage of Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy. Pride and Prejudice with a magical twist
1. Chapter 1

Dark Arts and Allurements

Usual disclaimers: The characters of course, belong to Miss Austen. The plot is my own twisted alternate universe version of this story.

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"It ought to be so; it must be so, while he retains the use of his reason. But your arts and allurements may, in a moment of infatuation, have made him forget what he owes to himself and to all his family. You may have drawn him in."

Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Pride and Prejudice, Volume III, Chapter 14

A Deed Without a Name

Many people were deeply disappointed, to say nothing of seriously displeased, when the notice announcing the engagement of Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire to Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire appeared in the better London newspapers.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh had crumpled up the newspaper and threw it in the fireplace. How could he ignore his duty to his family and class and marry that impertinent little nobody? He was supposed to marry her daughter, her's, not the daughter of a vulgar woman with connections in trade. It would be a disaster, a complete disaster, and her nephew would not discover his mistake until it was too late. She paced back and forth. What arts and allurements had that Bennet creature used to trap her nephew? Yes, it must have been arts and allurements. Lady Catherine frowned. What she was pondering was dangerous, improper, and not all like ladylike. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and, after all, it was her duty to save her family from disgrace. Obviously, that creature had started it, and on her head so be it. She went to the strongbox she kept in her room and unlocked it. Under a stack of important correspondence and financial papers were notes she had made many years ago. Many years ago, when she was a girl she had slipped away from nurses and governesses to go into the woods surrounding her father's estate. Slipped away to see the old woman who lived in an ancient cottage. That old woman had taught her a thing or two that no number of governesses had even hinted at.

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In public, at least, Caroline Bingley hid her rage behind her usual air of fashionable indifference. When her brother broke the news of his friend Darcy's engagement, only a tightening around her mouth, a narrowing of her eyes gave away her displeasure. Mr. Bingley had left the room relieved, thinking that she had taken it much better than expected. Of course, he was quite wrong.

Like Lady Catherine, Miss Bingley spent much time in her room, pacing and raging against fate in general, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet in particular. When she thought of all the time she had spent seeking Mr. Darcy's favor, agreeing with his every opinion, making sure his favorite foods and drinks were always available at Bingley's house, even currying favor with that insipid Georgiana she could scream.

She flung herself into a chair and brooded. Her eye fell on a small piece of artwork on the mantelpiece. It didn't really fit in with the decor of her room, but it had been given to her by her favorite uncle (even though he was in, shudder, trade). He had brought it all the way back from the West Indies, just for her. And that uncle had brought back more than art work and sugared treats. Late at night, when she was supposed to be in bed, she would sneak downstairs and listen to her uncle regale the adults with stories of the West Indies, and the strange, pagan practices of the natives. She dredged some of those stories out of her memory, and an evil plan started to hatch in her jealous brain. She didn't really think it would work, but she was willing to do anything to thwart Elizabeth Bennet, no matter how slim the chance of success.

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Mr. Collins scowled out the window of the carriage that was bearing him and his wife to visit his in-laws in Meryton. Officially, their trip was to convey Charlotte to her family home before her delicate condition made travel impossible. In truth, it was so they could be as far away from Lady Catherine's displeasure as their means allowed.

How could cousin Elizabeth marry Lady Catherine's nephew? He had written Mr. Bennet to warn him against allowing such a union. Now Lady Catherine was furious, and was making his position extremely uncomfortable.

A horrible plan started to seep (very slowly, to be sure) into his brain. No one at university would have ever accused him of being a scholar, but he had spent some time at the library. He had found he had an interest in the witch trials of earlier centuries. Yes, that was it, surely cousin Elizabeth had descended to forbidden practices. Only that could explain this situation Therefore, it was his duty as a clergyman to put a stop to this. Now, what was the proper way to expose a witch? He was sure he had read something, if he could just remember...


	2. Chapter 2

A Brief Interval to Consider the Matter of Magic.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that magic is best left to professionals who have dedicated their lives to study, discipline, and emotional control. (qualities notable absent from the character so far named in this story) Magic was too dangerous and too unpredictable to be left in the hands of amateurs, especially amateurs who are in jealous rages. Any responsible magic user in the multiverse would be shocked and appalled at what was going on in Miss Bennet's and Mr. Darcy's corner of space/time. Master Sean O'Lochlainn would have turned them all into the local bishop, to be examined and tried for practicing black magic. Mithrandir (aka Storm Crow, aka Incanus, aka Gandalf the Grey/White) would have frightened them into dropping their foolish plans with the sheer force of his personality. Rupert Giles would have blistered their ears with lecture on the dangers of their actions. Polgara would have sent them to the kitchens to scrub pots until they came to their senses.1 But none of those worthies were available. And so Lady Catherine, Caroline Bingley and Mr. Collins proceeded with their plans, and a flight of dark magics went flying their way to a small estate in Hertfordshire

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1. and Rincewind, of course, would have booked a voyage to the New World and been well out of it - or maybe not. For a man who hates discord and adventure, he ends up in the middle of it more often than not.

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and five brownie points each for recognizing the characters mentioned in the above paragraph.


	3. Chapter 3

Usual disclaimers: Miss Austen's characters, my demented plot. I hope she's not turning in her grave fast enough to power the greater London power grid.

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By the Pricking of My Thumbs...

Margaret Hall, Housekeeper of Longbourn, was feeling out of sorts, nervous even.

The party to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth was going very well. Intimidated by her imposing son-in-law-to-be, Mrs. Bennet was being less annoying than usual. With Miss Lydia gone, Miss Catherine was actually behaving with a degree of decorum Mrs. Hill could scarce believe. Mr. Bennet was making fewer sarcastic remarks than was his wont. To the disappointment of no one, Mr. Collins and Miss Bingley had both begged off, claiming minor illness. The food was good, the drinks were flowing, the guests were happy. There was no reason for this fit of nerves (God help her, she was starting to sound like the mistress). Nonetheless, she could not shake the sense that something was terribly wrong.

Her eyes scanned the room once more. There were Miss Bennet and her Mr. Bingley, looking totally besotted with each other. There was Miss Catherine, Mrs. Collins (Miss Lucas that was) and Miss Darcy chatting in one corner. Mr. Bennet, Mr. Darcy, Sir Lucas and other men were in another corner, deep in discussion. Miss Mary was talking to her uncle Philip's clerk. Everything and everyone was where they belonged. No, almost everyone; where was Miss Elizabeth?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Darcy suddenly stiffen. He was looking at something over her shoulder. She turned. Miss Elizabeth was at the doorway, clinging to the doorjamb. Her face was flushed, and her eyes too bright.

Miss Elizabeth smiled weakly. "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling very well," she whispered. Her eyes rolled up in her head, but Mr. Darcy was at her side to catch her before she could collapse to the floor.

"Elizabeth!" he cried. "Speak to me." But she lolled in his arms, unresponsive. Miss Bennet stepped up quickly to the couple. She touched Elizabeth's forehead and gasped.

"She's burning up!" she exclaimed.

Pandemonium broke out at that point. Several guests, alarmed by being in the same room as a fever, made exits from the room that were as quick as they were unseemly. Mrs. Bennet started to have hysterics. Miss Bennet and Miss Mary led Mr. Darcy to Miss Elizabeth's room. Mr. Bennet stood there, stunned.

"Mrs. Hill," said Mr. Bingley, "why don't you take Mrs. Bennet to her room? I'll send my carriage to the apothecary's."

"Yes, thank you sir," she said. As she led the weeping Mrs. Bennet to her chamber, she thought that Miss Bennet had made a very good choice indeed.

She soon had Mrs. Bennet undressed and in bed, and poured a glass of the mistress's favorite "nerve" medicine. She then strode down the hallway to Miss Elizabeth's room. Mr. Darcy was standing at the doorway, looking bereft and very young and not at all like the reserved and serious man the people of Meryton had known (and disliked, but no need to bring that up at a time like this). She spared a smile for him.

"Don't you worry, sir," she said with more confidence than she really felt. "Our Miss Elizabeth is a healthy girl. Mr. Bingley has sent for the apothecary. It will be well." She slipped into the room, and closed the door.

Mrs. Hill soon had the people milling about the room to work. The maid was put to building up the fire in the hearth. She sent Miss Mary to the still room to fetch the feverfew and willow bark, and Miss Catherine was sent for extra linens. She and Miss Bennet set to undressing Miss Elizabeth. Mrs. Hill barely suppressed a gasp as she touched Miss Elizabeth's bare skin. There was an aura clinging to Elizabeth's skin, clearly plain to those who knew about such things. Whatever this fever was, it was not natural. Mrs. Hill's lips compressed into a thin line. This was more than she could handle on her own; she would have to call in her sisters.

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I've been over this a few times, and I'm convinced there are some anachronisms still hiding in plain sight. Comments, suggests?


	4. Chapter 4

The characters belong to the divine Miss Austen, the plot is mine.

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The Weird Sisters, Hand in Hand

If you charged Mrs. Hill and her sisters with witchcraft, they would have denied it most vehemently. They were good church-going, Christian women. What they did was not witchcraft, though, to be honest, they would admit to themselves that what their youngest sister could do was a bit uncanny. What they did was just women's knowledge, passed down from mother to daughter. Men were not involved in it, should not be involved in it. It was no more men's business than childbirth or nursing in their minds.

Longbourn had turned from pandemonium to controlled chaos. Georgiana, Kitty and Mrs. Phillips spent their time trying to soothe Mrs. Bennet, who, everyone agreed, would be of no comfort or use to Elizabeth. Jane, Mary and Mrs. Hill took turns sitting by Elizabeth's bed, wiping her forehead with cool towels, trying to bring down the fever. Mr. Bingley sat with the distraught Mr. Bennet in the library, trying his best to keep the older man's spirits from sinking too low. The apothecary had come and gone, leaving some medicines behind, but telling them that good nursing would make the difference. Mrs. Collins had offered to stay, but Mrs. Hill had kindly refused.

"You have your babe to think of," she said, "but I thank you for the offer. You go home and pray for Miss Lizzy. I promise you we'll take good care of her."

It was simplicity itself for her older sister, Mrs. Willows to come to Longbourn. Mrs. Willows worked at Netherfield, and Mr. Bingley agreed at once to having her assist in nursing Elizabeth. As soon as the Bingley carriage had returned from the apothecary's, it was dispatched to Netherfield, bearing a summons for Mrs. Willows (and the Hursts, who did not wish "to be a bother" as they put it). Mrs. Willows was soon there, bustling in with a basket of their family's remedies for fevers and other illnesses over her arm.

She jerked when she touched Elizabeth's forehead. She glanced sharply at her sister. Mrs. Hill nodded, and then made a small gesture towards Mary and the maid in the room. The message was clear - later. Out loud, all she would say was, "Oh sister, this is bad, this is. Should we call for Abigail as well?"

Mary Bennet looked across the bed at her. "Abigail?"

"Our younger sister, Miss. She's a dab hand at nursing people through fevers, she is. She's married to George Dodson, over at Haye-Park."

"Do you think she would come if we asked her?" said Mary.

"Oh yes, Miss."

"Then I will go talk to my father immediately," she turned on her heel even as she spoke.

"Oh, Miss," called Mrs. Willows.

Mary paused at the door.

"If you would, ask her if our niece can come along too. She has a bit of a gift for nursing herself."

Mary nodded, and was gone. Mrs. Hill sent the maid out of the room with an armful of dirty linens. She went to the door and checked the hallway. Good, they would have a few minutes privacy, at least.

"Margaret, is this what I think it is?"

Mrs. Hill sighed. "Yes, it's been years since I felt something like this, but I'm sure this isn't natural. But Abigail will know best."

"What can we use for now?" Mrs. Willows rooted through her basket, plucking out small bags of dried herbs. "Thyme, dill, fennel, perhaps?"

"I think it will take more than that," said Mrs. Hill. "But anything that slows this fever is better than naught."

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OK, I managed to get this done before I go off on my holiday vacation. I might even get the next chapter in by the weekend - but no promises!

Thanks to everyone for the feedback.


	5. Chapter 5

Thrice to mine, and thrice to thine...

Fitzwilliam Darcy started out of sleep. He grimaced as he stretched out his neck. He had fallen asleep in a chair just outside Elizabeth's chamber. He had been ejected from the room some time earlier, as the women performed necessary nursing tasks. He was exhausted. Elizabeth had called for him piteously in her delirium, so he was allowed to sit by her bed, holding her hand. It seemed to be the only thing that gave her any relief from her illness. But the fever seemed to be determined to have prey; if it could not have Elizabeth, it would dine on him.

He paced in the hall a few times, at a loss for something to do. An express had been sent to his physician in London, but it would be hours before any response could be received. Dimly, he was aware that he was hungry. He had been offered food hours ago, but worry had destroyed his appetite, and he had only had a few bites of bread. There were no servants in the hallway. He would not bother the women in the sickroom. Longbourn was not a huge rambling building like Pemberley or Rosings. He should be able to find the kitchen on his own.

After a few wrong turns, he found what was obviously the hallway to the kitchen and scullery. As he approached the kitchen, he could hear voices.

"Do you think you can tell who did this to Miss Lizzy?" he heard one voice say. He thought it was Bingley's housekeeper.

"Have I ever failed you, sister?" was the reply, in a voice that he couldn't place.

Did what to Elizabeth? What could they mean? It was a fever, plain and simple. Through a crack in the door, he could three older woman sitting at a table. One was Mrs. Hill, the Bennet's housekeeper, one was Mrs Willows, Bingley's housekeeper. There was a younger woman standing behind the woman who was unfamaliar to him. They were studying something on the table with great interest. The unknown woman sprinkled something on the object and muttered some words he couldn't quite make out.

He took a closer look at the object. It was a lock of hair, dark and shiny and full of highlights in the candlelight. Surely that wasn't Elizabeth's hair? What strange, superstitious idiocy were they up to? He swelled full of anger. He was ready to march into that room and snatch that lock of hair off the table.

He stopped his movement even as it began, for the hair was glowing. The women around the table leaned in close, staring in interest. There seemed to be three separate strands of eerie colour wrapped around the lock. One was a dull orange, one was a sickly pale green, and the largest strand was a stomach-turning mixture of grey and angry red.

"Three?" asked Miss Hill. "How could there be three?"

The unknown woman gave a mirthless smile. "Miss Elizabeth has been blessed. Blessings always excite the envy of the unworthy." She turned her head slightly to address the younger woman behind her.

"Well, daughter? What do you make of it?"

The young woman came closer, holding her right hand over the glowing lock. She frowned in concentration.

"I think at least one of these was cast by a relative of Miss Elizabeth's, and, and, male, yes male."

"Very good, Sarah. I suspect it that poor excuse of a cousin and a clergyman. He was very put out when Miss Elizabeth rejected his proposal. Now, the other two?"

The younger woman once again ran her hand over the lock, not quite touching it.

"One was cast by a younger woman, not a relation of Miss Elizabeth's, but I think I should know it."

"I agree. I'm thinking it's that sour-faced, over-dressed sister of Mr. Bingley's. I've seen her in town, sneering at the goods in the shops. I've heard how she was throwing herself at the young master. Yes, it has the feel of her. Now, what do you make of the strongest one?"

"Rage, anger, choking on pride," the woman's words came out in gasps. "Strong, older woman, determined to have her way in all things, no matter the cost to others..." She broke off and backed away from the table.

"Yes, all that and more, child," said the woman kindly. "Sit you down, you've done very well." She turned to the other women.

"So that worthless Mr. Collins, Miss Bingley, and, who?" asked Mrs. Hill. She seemed thoughtful. "But there is something about it I just can't put my hand on. Maybe someone I met briefly?"

"No one I've met, I'm sure," said Mrs. Willows.

"No, no one we've met," agreed the woman, "but I imagine the young master knows full well." She was staring right at the doorway.

Darcy swallowed hard. How had she known he was there? He stepped into the room, face red with embarrassment like a small boy caught in naughtiness. He should turn around and leave, but he could not.

"You can see, can't you?" she asked. "So rare for a man to have the sight."

He shifted uncomfortably. Surely this was some trick, but to what purpose?

The woman fixed him with her glittering eyes. "Yes," she muttered. "Related to him."

"Related to me? I do not have the pleasure of understanding you."

"There are three threads of malice here," she said, waving her hand over the glowing lock of hair. "The orange and green ones were sendings by weak and foolish people, with no clear purpose but to discomfort our Miss Elizabeth. I suspect Mr. Collins and Miss Bingley. But this third one, the one sent by one of your kin, it was sent with strength and clear purpose."

"And its purpose?" asked Darcy, though he dreaded the answer.

"It was meant to kill," she said simply.

This was insane. He was a man of sense and education. His estate was run using the latest scientific principles. How could he be listening to this nonsense? Yet he could not dismiss the evidence of his eyes. He knew of no way make a lock of hair glow like St. Elmo's fire, much less with three different colours, twisting and writhing even as he watched.

"Is there anything to be done?" he asked in a desperate whisper.

"Oh aye," said the woman. "In a way, these lesser sendings were a blessing. Alone, this," she pointed at the red and grey, "might have killed Miss Elizabeth quickly. But the others intefere, fighting with each other like dogs with only one bone. As it is said, 'Oft evil will shall evil mar'."

She straightened up, all practicality and purpose. "The two weak ones will be easily broken, once the dangerous one is banished. But this third, most dangerous one. We must have something of hers. Do you know of a older woman of your blood who hates our girl enough to do this? Do you have something of hers, anything? Time grows short."

Oh yes, Darcy knew without a doubt who did this. What had the younger woman said? "Rage, anger, choking on pride, strong, older woman, determined to have her way in all things, no matter the cost to others..." What had Lady Catherine done? At this point he believed the woman. If she said this was magic from some story of old, he believed her. But his aunt was miles away in Kent. How could he obtain anything of hers?

Of its own accord, his hand went to the pocket of his coat. Paper crinkled under his hand. He took out the letter. He had received it just before leaving for the party. It was Lady Catherine's incredibly rude and insulting response to the wedding invitation. He had meant to burn it when he came home from the party, but with all the excitment and anxiety, he had forgotten all about it. He passed it to the woman.

"Will a letter in her own hand suffice?" he asked.

"In her own hand? Yes, it will do very well, sir." She stared directly into Darcy's eyes, her face set in hard lines. "I will warn you, sir, that if we break these spells, they will return to their senders. Since the one your relative sent was meant to kill, it may well kill her in its turn. Do you accept that?"

He thought of Elizabeth, thrashing about in her bed as the fever consumed her. "Let her reap what she has sown," he ground out. "May God forgive her, for I can not."

The woman seemed satisfied with that answer. "Thank you, sir. We know what to do. You should return to your lady now. Your presence seems to do her more good than all the medicines in the world. You hold her for us, and do not let go." She said the last words in tones of command. A small part of his mind was amazed that he would allow a servant to speak to him thus, but allow it he did.

She looked at him closely as he rose from the table. "You're fair worn, aren't you? I'll send Sarah up with tea and some food as soon as can be."

He nodded his acknowledgment and thanks, and exited the room.

The women looked at each other. Mrs. Hill broke the silence.

"Well, we should get to work. But what will we do about him? He's a good man, but it doesn't sit right with me, him seeing this."

Mrs. Dodson smiled. "He can not tell what he does not remember." She turned to her daughter.

"When you make his tea, make sure to use a pinch of lethe's bramble. At most, he will think he was having odd dreams."

Sarah went to make up the tray for Mr. Darcy, and the older woman started to bring supplies out of their baskets to set to work on breaking Lady Catherine's hold on Miss Elizabeth.

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Well, the end is in sight! I just have to come up with just punishements for the guilty...something poetic, if I can swing it.

And any Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans who have read this far will remember Lethe's Bramble (see episode _Tabula Rasa_), which, as far as I know, does not really exist.


	6. Chapter 6

Usual disclaimers: Characters belong to Miss Austen, only the plot is mine.

Then the charm is firm and good

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Once again, Fitawilliam Darcy woke up in the hard, uncomfortable chair outside Elizabeth's door. Such strange dreams he had been having. Respectable housekeepers doing scenes from Macbeth in the kitchen. Aunt Catherine striking Faustian bargains in her drawing room. Where had that come from? He was aware of a hand gently shaking his shoulder. He pried his eyes open. It was Miss Bennet, her face wet with tears. His heart twisted, it was difficult to breathe. She must have realized what he was thinking, and she hastened to reassure him.

"No, no, Mr. Darcy. Her fever has broken," she exclaimed, "she is going to be well." Then she burst into tears. He could hear someone thundering up the stairs. It was Bingley, looking very alarmed. Jane threw herself into his arms.

"She is going to be well. I was so scared, Charles," she sobbed into his shoulder. Bingley held her and smoothed her hair. Darcy shook his head. How had he ever thought that Jane had no strong emotions? A haggard but happy-looking Mr. Bennet poked his head out of Elizabeth's room.

"She's asking for you," he said. Darcy stumbled into the room and to Elizabeth's bedside. She looked exhausted, and her hair was plastered against her head. But her complexion was no longer flushed with fever, and her eyes were clear. Darcy took one of her hands and gently raised it to his lips.

Elizabeth smiled up weakly at him. "I hate to have you see me like this," she whispered.

"In sickness or in health, dear," he said. "At the moment, I can think of no lovelier sight."

"Sickness, health...that is after the wedding," she said.

"Now and always," he responded. She yawned. "Sleep now, dear. I expect you to be at our appointment, you know."

"I would not dare miss it," she mumbled, closing her eyes and falling instantly to sleep. Darcy laid her hand back on the bed. He swayed a little.

"Come, Mr. Darcy," said another voice. It was Mrs. Gardiner, Elizabeth's aunt. When had she arrived? He looked at her muzzily.

"Elizabeth's not the only one who needs sleep. You won't help her recovery if you become ill yourself." She gently pushed him out the door. A servant showed him to a guest room. He fell into the bed and slept like a dead man for several hours.

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The inhabitants of Lucas Lodge were sitting down to a late breakfast when the news of Elizabeth's recovery was announced.

Charlotte and Maria expressed their joy. Sir William beamed and said, "Capital, capital."

"My noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, will not be pleased..." Mr Collins stopped, aghast at the words that had come out of his mouth.

"Hmm, what was that?" asked Sir William. A genial man without an ounce of malice in his makeup, he couldn't believe anyone could think such a thing, much less say it. He must have misheard.

"That is to say, Lady Catherine, who is as officious as she is condescending..." started Mr. Collins. The entire table was staring at him. Forks and spoons were poised in midair, their contents forgotten. Mr. Collins clapped his hands over his mouth.

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Miss Bingley's maid approached her mistress's door with trepidation. While it was not unusual for Caroline Bingley to sleep in late, it was almost noon and she yet to ring for her tea or to have her hair dressed for the day. Gathering up her courage, the maid poked her head in the door.

"Miss, are you well?" Fear froze her; maybe Miss Bingley had come down with the same fever that felled Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

"Go away," moaned Miss Bingley. Miss Bingley was still in bed, her face buried in her pillows. "I do not feel well."

"Do you need the apothecary, Miss?" asked the anxious maid (who was at that moment also making a resolution to seek out new employment come next quarter day.)

"No!" screeched Miss Bingley. She threw a pillow towards the door. The maid got one look at Caroline's face, and she started screaming.

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It was late in the evening when the inhabitants of Longbourn gathered for dinner. Elizabeth was asleep, as was Mrs. Bennet, but everyone else was there. Kitty was particularly pleased. Her father had praised her for her work while Elizabeth was ill, and she was basking in this rare approval. The Gardiners did not have to remind anyone to eat; with the danger passed, people who had eaten little for the last two days ate with a will.

"I do hope your sister does not have anything serious, Mr. Bingley," said Mary.

"Well, whatever it is, it can not be smallpox," said Bingley. "Our father was very interested in all the latest improvements. When he read about Dr. Jenner's work, nothing would satisfy him but that he dragged Caroline, Louisa and me right to the man himself for his new vaccination. But it was very kind of you, Darcy, to send your doctor along to Netherfield."

"Since he was already here, it was no bother," said Darcy. That worthy man had been received at Longbourn mid-morning, to discover that his patient was already on the mend. He asked many questions, but remained as mystified as everyone else (except, of course, Mrs. Hill's family, who were not talking) as to the nature of Elizabeth's sudden and dangerous illness. He examined her, offered some sage advice, and then ate an excellent meal. He was preparing to return to London when news of Miss Bingley's affliction reached them. He had no pressing business in London, and was easily persuaded by Mr. Darcy to see to this new patient.

They were all well into second servings when there was a clatter at the door. Mrs. Hill came into the dining room and said, "A Colonel Fitzwilliam for Mr. Darcy."

Darcy started to get out of his chair, but Mr. Bennet forestalled him. "Ah, Mrs. Hill, why don't you bring the Colonel here. I'm sure he's enjoy some of this excellent food." Mrs. Hill gave a small bob and was gone. A minute later the Colonel strode into the room, his boots and clothing still covered in road dust.

Darcy rose to greet his cousin. "Thank you for coming, but there was no need to rush. Elizabeth is doing much better."

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked puzzled. "Elizabeth? I'm here to tell you that Aunt Catherine had an apolectic fit early this morning. Father went down to Rosings as soon as he got the news. Mother and father will try to make it to your wedding, but they can promise nothing right now." He paused a moment, while Darcy's words sunk in. "What is wrong with Miss Elizabeth?"

Darcy then explained the events of the last two days. The Colonel expressed alarm at the sudden danger the young woman was in, and relief at the happy outcome. Silently, he sent up a prayer of thanksgiving, for he did not wish to contemplate what Darcy may have done if he had lost the love of his life so soon after finding her. He then sat down, and joined the family at their late meal.


	7. Chapter 7

Usual disclaimers: Not my characters (I wish)

Peace - the charm's wound up

The double wedding of Jane and Elizabeth Bennet to Charles Bingley and Fitzwilliam Darcy took place as planned. Colonel Fitzwilliam's parents were able to attend the wedding. Anne de Bourgh sent her sincere regrets that her mother's illness would keep her from the ceremony, and an invitation to come to Rosings when it was convenient for her cousin and his new bride. Both couples were well matched in temperament and understanding, and they all lived long and contented lives.

Frightened by the near-death of her daughter, Mrs. Bennet's behavior was subdued for some time. Mr. Bennet spent more time with his family. Kitty was not only less silly in her behavior, but she considered how she could best earn more paternal approval. Alas, it can not reported that Mary's performance on the piano improved to any extent.

Lady Catherine never did recover from the apoplexy that had felled her, and never spoke an intelligible word for the rest of her days. Anne de Bourgh, stepping out from the shadow of her mother's personality, discovered an unsuspected talent for estate management. Her health and her looks improved. Two years later she married Colonel Fitzwilliam, to the congratulations of their family.

Mr. Darcy had handsomely rewarded the servants who had nursed Elizabeth. Mrs. Hill and her sisters were able to use the money to assist younger relatives, including two sons of Mrs. Dodson, who emigrated to America and eventually ended up owning large and prosperous farms in Ohio. Being well-raised young men, they sent money to their older relatives, who were able to retire in comfort.

Miss Bingley's spots faded with time. Too embarrassed to go out into public, she spent her time in extensive reading, and she was much improved by the experience. She eventually married a man for whom she felt genuine affection, much to the surprise of all who knew her.

Mr. Collins never lost his compulsion to say what was on his mind rather than what he thought what people wanted to hear. He therefore found it better to remain silent when ever possible and his sermons were miracles of brevity, which was a great blessing to all who knew him.

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Many thanks to my reviewers, for keeping me going when I hit my snag. Said snag was the need to punish Mr. Collins without harming Charlotte. (the writer leaves her computer, humming "my object all sublime, I shall achieve in time...")

I went with a long-established Austen fan-fic convention and had Anne end up with the Colonel. As a 21st century American, I find all those first cousin marriages kind of creepy, but hey, the past is a foreign country and all that.


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